M is for Magnanimity
by OneDarkandStormyNight
Summary: Between the time that Alice was discovered by the Red Queen in her garden and the Mad Hatter was shown into the throne room, there was a comforting visit to the dungeon of a tortured redheaded hat-maker. H/A Rating changed for Mad Hatter cruelty scene :
1. Introduction

_Man, if I keep joining new fandoms, I'm never going to get any of my Sherlock Holmes fics done any time soon! Still, I saw this movie once two days ago, and I wanted to try at a fic for it. This is my first attempt at anything _Alice in Wonderland _**and** anything romantic whatsoever. I'm not really the romantic-writer, but c'mon, how adorable was the Mad Hatter?? I mean really, just look at him...and plus I just have a soft spot for high-energy, half-crazy characters. *biggrin* And I did catch more than one hint of some Hatter/Alice going on...somehow, I don't think I'm the only one. *wink wink*  
I understand that this is a very short (371 words) ficlet of a scene that was in the movie, but don't worry - there's a lot of my original hurt/comfort and romance coming up soon...hopefully...*hides, suddenly terrified of reviews*  
And PS - "Mananimity" is a word that means sacrificial kindness and nobility_

**M is for Magnanimity **

"You're too soft," the Red Queen had cooed in false reproof.

The Hatter had entered that glossed throne room with his bloodied and bandaged hands (product of countless years of continuous accidental stabbing with multiple hat-making needles) chained at the wrists and his flame-orange head (product of the affects of mercury poisoning from the felt of his beloved hats) bowed in hopeless defeat at his surroundings. He collapsed to his knees before her, not out of undue respect for the Red Queen, but because his legs had suddenly crumpled beneath him — his legs were weak from disuse and all that he endured at the Knave's merciless cruelty, though he seemed needlessly ashamed that it had shown even the smallest bit.

Alice had watched in veiled sympathy.

The Knave had observed his work with smug pride through one murky eye.

Then, the Hatter raised his head…and smiled.

Though the Knave's detached expression never faltered, a slight flinch went unnoticed by the others present. The last time he saw the half-crazed hat-maker flashed through his mind — the creak of an iron-bar door, the thump of a body falling to the cold dirt floor in a heap, followed by a pained gasp and the clink of chains. Two hazy green irises peering wearily up in the pale moonlight seeping through the barred window, then the muffled groan as his boot made one last, hard contact with injured ribs. That's how he left him, lying half-consciously curled upon the damp floor, silently suffering for his voluntary muteness.

And now, there he stood, cheekily flattering and fooling the Red Queen with grinning self-assurance, with no hint of the pain that had been etched in his ashen face the night previous (the pain he had fought so valiantly hard to hide from his captors).

Something was not right….

Under the Queen's absurd order, he raised his sword to free the vexing Underlander, his eyes darkening murderously.

The anguish-free apple green orbs twinkled merrily in response.

Little did any of Her Majesty's court suspect, the enormous girl called Um had made a secret trip to the dungeons the night prior, to the cell of a certain redheaded martyr….

**To be continued…**

_And its continuance counts on the reviewers...*wink wink* _


	2. Never Will I Say

_A thousand thanks__ to all 24 of my beautiful, intelligent reviewers…24...*faints* You guys are awesome, and I hope with all my heart that this chapter does not disappoint *crosses fingers for good luck*_

_My heart was clenching a bit as I wrote this beating chapter. It's my first attempt at a torture scene, so please be nice…*hehe*_

_Thanks again, especially to the people who knew me already from Sherlock Holmes and reviewed anyway because you are so kind. Every reader I have makes posting worthwhile!_

**M is for Magnanimity  
****Part I**

He had always despised the dark. When night fell at his Windmill in the Witzend region of Underland, he closed every colorful, handmade curtain and lit every candle in sight. This became especially true after the Red Queen came to rule. When the sun rose in a burst of hope the next morning, he blew out the candles and threw back the curtains, allowing the light to pour in and bathe the dreary room. Oftentimes, he stared up at the sky where he sat at the tea table with his companions and let its warmth and hope soothe his weary, waiting, poisoned eyes. (1)

Trapped within that heartless cell, too weak from the bruises, bleeding, and dehydration to fight the countless Red Knights beating him without mercy, with no hope of relief or rescue and no real knowledge of how many hours or days had passed, he hated the dark more than he ever had before.

His head reeling from a throbbing blow, he defiantly struggled to his hands and knees in an attempt to stand again, only to have the sting of three strikes from a whip cause him to collapse onto the cold floor again.

To the intense dissatisfaction of the Knave of Hearts, who stood a few feet away watching through one dim, hostile eye, there were no sounds of agony as the blood spilled onto the dusty dungeon floor.

Surely he should have broken by now; they had been here for nearly two hours.

Again, the Hatter tried to rise, his arms shaking beneath him.

"You don't admit defeat, do you, Tarrant?" scoffed one of the Knave's men — one of the Red Queen's loyal followers.

The Hatter did not verbally reply, but the answer was clear as he pushed himself to a straight, upright stance in the midst of his abusers and eyed them insolently. Even his clothes appeared proudly adamant, though they quivered a bit as his weakened body trembled.

Stayne had known Tarrant was unlike any other of the Hightopp clan…_former_ clan. The day the Red Queen and his army of Red Knights had overthrown the White Queen in that chaotic, panic-stricken Witzend field, the entire Hightopp family was destroyed within the hour. That is, all but Tarrant; he had survived, despite all odds to the contrary, and by pulling Queen Mirana to safety, he had quite possibly saved her life as well.

From that time on, he had watched the grieving Underlander closely, listened to the wild stories he told the Underland Underground Resistance of the girl called Alice who would return and save them all, observed the bold defiance and fearless rebellion against the Queen Iracebeth's new laws, and seethed as he threatened his neck multiple times only to have him snicker to his face like the slippery Cheshire Cat. After everything he had tried to bring him down, Stayne knew without doubt that, while he Mad Hatter may be driven to unruly insanity, he was by no means easily broken. He had felt — still felt — that he man needed to be done away with as soon as possible, and had waited for the day when he would have the opportunity to do the deed of breaking his lively soul once and for all.

When his men had shoved him onto the ground in front of the cluttered tea table, raving about his open display of ultimate disrespect and disloyalty to the Queen, he had relished in the thought that now, after all the ineffective threats and curses he'd hurled at the Hatter, he would at last fear him. He had sworn to himself that the insolent traitor would suffer such harm at his hand that he would be prepared to bow at his feet and worship him in the end. He informally arranged the beating, and had, after the first half-hour mark, expected to hear cries for mercy, begging for peace, pleading confessions and regretful betrayals…

Now he realized, without growing infuriation, this half-hysterical hat-maker was much nobler than he appeared…

The Hatter collapsed onto his knees as a heavy rock struck his chest, knocking the breath out of him. A second later, a clout sent him collapsing onto his shoulder with a grimace. Angered shouts and complaints from his tormentors came from all sides, insults and threats pouring from the mouths of the Red Knights, as had been brutally instructed by their leader.

Still, there remained no response from him, only the small, painful gasps for air and the sight of lime eyes bright and glazed with despair and anguish.

Another half-hour passed, characterized by nothing but the sound of whip, mace, rock, and flesh beating flesh filling the place, together with the scornful, taunting remarks and severe provocations to surrender what he knew. On and on it went, the beating growing more and more violent and merciless as the Red Knights grew more and more exhausted and strained.

Still not a sound greater than a hiss or groan from the prisoner.

Vehement fury overcoming him at last, the Knave suddenly rushed forth and seized the handle of an iron bar from the crackling fire nearby. He threw a Red Knight out of his way; the others present were wisely noiseless as he painfully wrenched the Hatter to his feet and slammed him against the far wall, placing the simmering iron mere centimeters from the half-opened, weary eye of his victim.

"Where is she, _madman_?" he snarled murderously, his one eye boring into the Hatter's. "I know you are protecting that _girl_. Tell me where she is!" He shook him forcefully.

The Hatter blinked and panted for enough air before whispering, in a voice rough with pain and thirst, "_Downal wyth Bluddy Behg Hid_. You are as disloyal as we, only we do not lie and deceive. Have I made a rhyme?" (2)

The Knave's fist crashed into his already-bruised cheek, and the Hatter's temple cracked against the hard wall.

His eyes fluttered, but he obstinately remained conscious.

"I said _tell me where to find Alice_," he growled through clenched teeth, holding the glowing rod pointedly near his battered, protruding rib cage.

The Hatter's brow furrowed in answer and he glared steadily into the burning black eye.

They were equally matched, and they each knew it.

Without breaking his gaze, Stayne lowered the end of the iron bar against an open and gushing wound across his ribs. A sickening hiss broke the heavy silence.

The Red Knights cringed on impulse at the tortured, strangled cry he was unable to restrain as his body arched reflexively.

Stayne held him firmly upright, showing his back against the wall when his legs buckled.

His head bowed as he gulped in a deep, stabilizing breath, thoroughly ashamed of his frailty.

His composure restored, Stayne droned with a hint of smugness, "Now, tell me, _Hatter_" — he spat the well-known nickname with disgust — "where have you hidden your precious little Alice?"

A moment of breathless hush, and then, "Have you any idea how a raven's like a writing desk? Never will I say."

The Red Knights jolted in surprise as an enraged roar erupted from the Knave, and he charged forward, swiping the iron from where he had replaced it into the flame. With one hand, he held the Hatter's head firmly tilted, and with the other, he thrust the glowing orange rod against the sensitive skin of his lower throat.

A strangled sob broke past his weakened control before he forcefully prevented another scream of agony.

"Why do you suffer for her?" nearly shouted the Knave in his ear, over the sound of his skin burning. "Tell us where she is, help us to destroy her, and your torment will be over." To emphasize his point, he pulled back the bar and bore it aimlessly against the bruised and cut skin of his stomach, producing a muffled moan. "You can go free, Tarrant. Why do you choose to retain your reserve? Why do you give yourself for a girl from the topsoil? You can save yourself, you fool; why do you _die_ for her?" Again, he moved the iron, painfully marking his side, cutting into it a bit with the sharp tip of the rod.

The Hatter choked out, "I am…as you are — greedy, selfish. I want…for myself…"

"Want _what_ — your freedom?" he sneered.

"…want _our_ freedom, her safety…"

It was in those words that the Knave understood.

"Your _fixation_ with this Alice will be your death, _Tarrant_ — this I swear to you. You will die for her."

"If I must, I must," came the resolute response. "And if I mustn't, I won't."

"You will," he droned, his voice low and icy as a bitter wind, an irreversible seal placed upon his dark vow. "You will die a public and humiliating death, and none of your dear friends — or your _beloved_ Alice — will be there to save you." He leaned forward and whispered, "And I shall watch from the royal partition as the end of the war is announced by the sound of your head rolling."

"You see," he murmured hoarsely, "there is no real ending. It's only the beginning." (3)

"Then this shall only be your beginning."

Stayne twisted both of his aching arms above his head and locked tight shackles around his wrists, pinning him securely against the wall, a position that gave no possibility of defense on his part.

The Red Knights watched helplessly, the loyalists of both the White Queen and Red Queen all together silently pleading for the valiant man to yield; all knew what the hours to come would hold if he retained his silence.

There was dread lingering behind the Hatter's eyes as Stayne held the rod into the orange-and-blue flame, but it was not stronger than the power of his devotion — never as strong.

The sound of the choked cries echoed throughout the dark night in the dungeon, the only witnesses the rats of the sewers and Red Knights who wished nothing more than to forget all they heard and saw.

**To be continued**

* * *

(1) I know nothing more about Alice in Wonderland than what I've seen in the newest movie and read in the book that goes along with that movie, so if any of my facts/theories seem extremely inaccurate and unrealistic, all of you experienced Wonderlanders please let me know!

(2) _"Downal wyth Bluddy Behg Hid"_ - "Down with the Bloody Big Head" Translation from the secret language used by the Underland Underground Resistance.

(3) Completely random and somewhat pointless fact, but these are actually lyrics taken from the song "Her Name is Alice" performed by Shinedown, available on the soundtrack "Almost Alice." (Don't look at me like that; it's a good CD, and I like Avril Lavigne.)

* * *

_No, no! Please don't cut off my head…I know you were expecting this to be the rest of it, when Alice comes and all, but please forgive me! I wanted to show a bit of the beating scene and then it ended up taking up 1,857 words. Typical of me, actually. *hehe* I figured if I added the Alice scene in this one part as well, it'd end up being more than 2,000 words altogether. That's a bit much for even my longsuffering readers to take in all at once._

_But no worries; update is coming soon…as soon as I can get my muse to give me romantic thoughts instead of torturing ones…on second thought, it might be awhile. *giggles*_


	3. From a Dream

_When I first sat down to do this, I couldn't even think up a proper first paragraph...and now here I've ended up with over 3,000 words of hurt/comfort, romance, and plenty of adorable Hatter - even after I said I wouldn't go over 2,000. In the words of our lovely heroine, "Curiouser and curioser." *wink*I do hope you like it, and it's not a disappointment. I even went so far as to post it on Facebook first and ask advice, so I really, really hope it's not a disappointment and you all like it! Remember to review - hoping to make it past 50 reviews on this one!_

**M is for Magnanimity  
****Part II**

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if he'd ever see the sun shining a strip through his patched twill curtains again, or hear the wind arguing raucously with the pounding rain on his windows, or smell a freshly-brewed pot of tea, or get the chance to say goodbye to Thackery the March Hare and Mallymkun the Dormouse and McTwisp the White Rabbit — or tell Alice how long he had waited for her to come back to him.

_It was worth it, you know,_ his own tired voice murmured weakly in his mind. _It'll be worth dying if she can save us from this awful place._

Then, another thought jumped up, bringing with it more passion than the first. _It'll be worth dying if she can save _herself_._

A peaceful feeling wriggled its way past the more morose ones crowding his mind and body. He almost smiled, but he did not have the strength.

It was an oddity, really. For timeless years, he had awaited her prophetic return to Underland, waited anxiously for the day when she would destroy the Jabberwocky, free all the innocent creatures of the land, and at last avenge his once-thriving family that had been unjustly murdered by the accursed _Bluddy Behg Hid_ and her cold army of Red Knights. From the moment Absolem the Caterpillar had breathed to unroll the Oraculum, and he had seen the long tresses of curly hair, he had not once doubted that little, fearless Alice had the muchness to do it. For years to come, he had sat in that broken tea party chair, halfheartedly dodging objects hurled by Thackery and silently enduring the high-pitched tantrums squeaked out by Mally, waiting breathlessly but faithfully. He had imagined the moment she would find her way to their little part of Witzend, dreamed of when he would see that small, round face harden with determination, fantasized about when he would feel real hope again.

Then, at last, Chess had led her to their table, and his eyes had beheld her. She wasn't a little child any longer (though in light of her size, it took him a moment to realize), and when he had discovered this, it had stunned him. The reality of what the years would do to her had not struck him until that moment. She was a beautiful, graceful young woman, a delicate but sturdy white rose dressed in blue.

He had thought this was only better, that it made her muchier than ever. Even when she forcefully refused to slay anything, and demanded that he put it out of his mind, he had known that her path was unchangeable. She would do it, not just for the fact that it was written by invisible hands on a yellowed scroll, but because it was Alice, and he knew Alice, even if she could not remember him or the muchness she possessed.

He still believed in her, and he did not doubt the power she held or the connection she had with the Vorpal Sword. That was why he was here now, because by desperately helping her along her journey he was doing his feeble part in saving Underland - saving his beloved world and all those in it.

As he lay there, wheezing in painful breaths, he realized there was more than his yearning for the lovely White Queen's rule that caused him to allow himself to be taken prisoner for Alice, even to the place he loathed more than any other: Iracebeth's Castle. But what was it? Why was it? He did not know, and it seemed now that he would never have the opportunity to know, if the Knave had his way and he was beheaded in the morning after the trial before the Bloody Red Queen.

_What an utter moron,_ his thoughts gradually became erratically scattered, as they sometimes did when he was especially mad. _And completely blind that she is surrounded by utter mutiny!…She wants to murder little Alice….They won't, they can't….They cannot have her…._ (1)

Footsteps echoed hollowly in the corridor outside his cell. The Knave was returning.

He did not move. There was no reason. He had no chance to run, and no strength to fight. So he merely lay there and waited for what he could only expect would be more spite-born agony.

The cell gate moaned shrilly as the Knave entered (reminding him rather comically of Mally). He saw a flash of black and red in his peripheral vision, and braced his eyes as the looming figure moved toward him. There was an indistinguishable whispery sound, like how the silk of his hats sometimes sounded when it accidentally brushed the ground, and he twitched in surprise when gentle fingers brushed his sore back.

"Hatter?"

His breath caught. The soft, sweet voice was definitely _not_ the Knave's. Surely it couldn't be real. He must be delirious. Dreaming. That's it, that's all. Only a lonely dream…

Even so, he wanted to answer, he really did, but the words seemed to be stubbornly stuck somewhere in his dry throat.

Two strangely large hands gripped his shoulder and rolled him onto his back, jarring him back to full consciousness and knocking the barrier from his throat.

When the pale, feminine face filled his vision, he could not have cared less that the movement had sent a wave of fiery pain through him.

"Alice?" he mouthed without sound, gazing at her in unreserved disbelief. It was impossible. She had a path from which she could not stray….

"What has that monster done to you?" she hissed uncharacteristically, that familiar cool fire alighting in her eyes as they skimmed over his bloody clothing.

"Just a bit of a tea party," he whispered hoarsely by way of explanation.

"Hardly," she countered. His eyes followed her movements as she reached into a lopsided pocket of her makeshift dress and removed a rag with a single red heart imprinted upon it and a matching canteen.

"Is that really you?" His question was no more than a low, mildly curious murmur as she poured some of the cool water onto the cloth.

"Of course it's me," she told him as she wiped his forehead gently, sending a new, thankfully painless sensation coursing through him. "You didn't think I'd let you give yourself up for me, did you? I'm far more muchier than that."

He made a sound like a chuckle, but it hurt too badly to let the feeling reach his expressions. All at once, dawning realization assaulted him like daybreak.

"You should have gone to the White Queen, Alice!" he gasped excitedly, his voice raw. "You must go now! You must go before the Red Queen finds you, and has your head cut off! Then the Oraculum will be changed, and you won't kill the Jabberwocky, and Iracebeth will reign over Underland forever…"

"Hatter!" she cupped her palm on his clammy cheek firmly before he became too excited and harmed himself further.

In response, his eyes slid closed and his entire body relaxed at once, the last small bit of energy left in him having been exhausted in that tiny outburst. Then, his ashen forehead wrinkled and his fists clenched, every muscle twitching the slightest bit.

"I'm fine," he whispered tightly.

Alice knew better. Her eyes ran again over his dirty, rumpled clothing that rested limply on his thin frame, making him look all the more forlorn and fragile. His whole body trembled; a shudder rippled through him every few raspy breaths. Dark spots glistened in the white moonlight seeping through the barred window; the coppery scent of blood still lingered faintly in the cell.

She reached up and undid the bronze buttons on the front of his loose printed shirt (noting peculiarly that the once-bright colors seemed gray and dull now). She slowly slid it back to reveal the smooth, white flesh of Tarrant's torso. His chest and stomach were marred gruesomely with still-trickling cuts and aggressive black bruises — but worst of all were the burns. White streaks crisscrossed his beaten flesh, surrounded by dark purple-black and deep red that stained his perfect, pale skin. Each burn looked angry and hot — an early warning sign of infection.

Trying to force the initial revulsion from her features, Alice somewhat shakily rewetted the rag and lightly placed it over one of the stripes where a thin layer had been burned away, thinking rather sadly to herself that it seemed everything else in this world was extraordinary in comparison to hers, including the suffering of good and blameless people.

Then, with a gasp, she instantly wrenched the cloth away as a half-choked groan forced itself from the Hatter's worn throat at the intensity of the unexpected searing pain.

Alice could not keep the total sympathy and guilt from her lovely face as she apologetically pressed the palm of her hand against his clammy forehead.

"I am sorry. I'm-" he began between pants.

"Don't you dare say 'fine,'" she cut him off purposefully.

His unnaturally light green eyes flickered open, focusing on her fair face and softening. Vague humor twinkled in the corners.

"M is for malice," he breathed with a small twitch of a smile, and she felt some of the tension fade into a little smile. (2)

"I must do this, Hatter," she told him gently, the solemnity returning at his unintentionally guilt-inducing words, teasing though they had been. "I'm sorry, but you could get ill, and it would only harm you all the worse."

He did not reply verbally, but cut his eyes meaningfully at the bandage wrapped around her upper right arm. She ignored this; her own small injuries were nothing in comparison to what he had endured for her.

"Why have you come, Alice?" he whispered as she wiped a smarting cut on his shoulder.

She met his eyes and read the imploring and worry in them that she did not fully comprehend.

"I told you, Hatter," as he winced at the sting of water on a deeper cut on his forearm. "I came to rescue you. If the Knave of Hearts tells the Red Queen that you've been protecting me, she'll have you beheaded."

"If he does, and I am, it is for Underland, and it is an honor," he answered resolutely, and at his noble and selfless words she could not stop the rush of admiration she felt for him.

"But you cannot just give up," she said evenly. "The March Hare and the Dormouse and the Tweedles still need you! And I…"

With a small effort, his eyes settled on hers, alight with a childish sort of curiosity.

She laid her hand soothingly on his steadily-moving chest (careful not to touch any injury) and, losing all guarded pretense she was wont to have, she peered into his wide-set, mercury-poisoned eyes.

"_I_ need you, Hatter," her tender voice filled his ears, sending odd, indecipherable feelings of peace and contentment and pure, unadulterated joy coursing through him all at once, overwhelming the pain for just a few blissful moments.

How long had it been since he'd heard words such as that? How many years had passed since anyone looked deeply at him like she was now? Yes, he knew Thackery and Mally and McTwisp and all other members of the Underland Underground Resistance depended upon him. He was their leader, their guidance, always knowing what to say and do, always willing to break whatever laws necessary to ensure their safety. He had a certain, strange way about him that made the Underlanders see that, even though he was very far gone in his madness, they could feel protected and welcomed with him always; perhaps they even loved him. Still, most were too sorrowful and angry at their tortured lives to think to voice it aloud, and some even too crazed — most were a combination of all three. He could not blame them for never thinking to comfort him….

And to be truthful, since the day his clan had been slain, he — whether consciously or unconsciously — had perished the notion that he would hear those words again. In some awry, hurt part of his mind, he blamed himself for not having the ability to save at least one small of the Hightopp children. Maybe he even felt he deserved hurt all these endless years.

Yet now, the words that he never expected to have directed at him poured from the mouth of the little girl he had loved from the firs moment she had smiled up at him, took his hand and said his name for the first time. She had sat down beside him then, politely sipping from the teacup Thackery had hurled, and he had grinned outright at the little giggle she offered to his wondrous tales of smiling cats and frowning carnations. When the time had come to say farewell, Tarrant had found himself wishing deeply that this little cherub could stay, could be raised and cared for by him and his clan and friends. He had every belief in himself that he (with the help and company of Queen Mirana, Thackery, Mally, and all Underlanders who had also taken a fancy to her) could give her a far happier life than she would have aboveground.

He had let her go then, with the unspoken promise from the honorable White Queen that she would someday return. Here she had, and once again he was taken with her; only now, it felt…different, in a way…

"I don't know why," Alice was saying, and he felt her speaking from her very heart as she lowered her eyes, "but I know I do. Somehow, somewhere deep inside me, I feel that I know you already, that I've needed you my entire life." Her eyes flickered to his again, and he was stunned to see uncertainty hidden in the depths. "I feel like I know you from a dream, Hatter, but I don't understand it, because it is too senseless to be real, even though you know me as well. I think I'm still dreaming now, but even though I can hardly recall you, I feel as if you're different from my other dreams, and I don't understand why. I don't understand anything anymore…" she trailed off.

He pondered this for a few moments of silence. "Perhaps you don't have to understand it, Alice," he murmured, his voice stronger with the need to erase that look from her pure face. "Perhaps you have only to believe that you are _our_ Alice, the Alice of Underland, not just _hardly_ Alice."

"But what if I'm not?" she argued, and the desperation she had been containing nearly frightened him. "What if I cannot save you, or the rest of Underland? I've never slain a deer or fox or even a fish, much less anything like a Jabberwocky; it's nonsense that I could just because some wrinkled scroll on a toadstool says so! I am _only_ Alice, Hatter."

He pondered again, then, in a reflective and haunted voice, he mumbled, "A long time ago, at a tea party in Witzend, a little person told me that everything is what it isn't." (3)

"Perhaps in Underland this is true, but not in England," she answered, thinking of the innocent-looking rabbit hole that had brought her here…_and why did his words sound so mysteriously familiar?_…

Tarrant smiled ironically, but a great deal of it was lost in his weakness. "Little Alice, there is so much you still do not know. You aren't what you think you are, you know. You are a little more, and a little less. You have muchness, I know you do; you've just not used it in so long it's gotten lost in the non-muchness. You've got to learn to use it again."

"How do I do that?" she questioned willingly, pouring more clean water onto the rag as she noticed his breath becoming more haggard at the end of his little speech.

He twisted his face in a mixture of still-present pain and concentration, then replied honestly, "I believe you'll have to find it on your own, little boy. Falling down a deep dark hole is the best way to learn to climb out of one, or so I've heard."

"But I don't think I can do it alone," she told him, though her lingering dread was somewhat abated at his candid, if unmerited, belief in her. "It's very deep and very dark, Hatter. I might slip and fall if I try to climb out."

This time, he did not think; the answer spilled out without any deliberation whatsoever.

"Then I will climb up behind you and catch you if you do," he vowed with a goodness and purity that was scarce in the souls of people in her world.

Alice looked into his eyes, daringly hopeful, and she saw it. Yes, there it was. The one constant that she could believe in this mad world. The one curiosity that really was what it appeared to be. The one solid thing she could lean on that would not collapse and send her spiraling.

At in an instant, she understood how it was this brave, mad hatter could survive through so much in his still-young life, even standing with enough strength to hold others up with him.

For several more sweet minutes, both were lost in their deliberative thoughts of each other, and then he coughed from the exertion of speaking. It was only one, pitiful cough, but it was enough to make him gasp, startling them both back into the present. She moved again, and his drained eyes followed her as she barely touched a burn on the base of his throat with the dripping rag.

It stung, but he was prepared, and so swallowed the whimper. Wordlessly, she continued to a scorching burn on his ribs, letting her other fingers brush the top of his limp hand when he tensed and a stifled groan escaped him. He rolled his head so that his cheek pushed steadily against the ground and his eyes closed; he tried to focus on the feel of her thumb stroking his hand.

As if she could read his thoughts, she continued to stroke his cold hand soothingly for the next several minutes, even moving to touch his hair when she cleaned a particularly bad burn, never becoming restless or agitated, always maintaining the same tender touch. Gradually, the agony lessened as the water cleansed the dirt from the wounds.

Alice tore strips from the layers of her thick curtain-material dress and tied them around the worse burns and cuts. The weary smile of thanks he offered only served to deepen the affection she held for him all the more, and before she knew what she was doing, she was caressing his bruised cheek, running her hand down the side of his neck caringly.

At this, his eyes drifted closed, and remained so for longer than a minute. She was inexpressibly glad to hear that his breathing was deep and even, no longer was it broken pants through distress. She assumed, as she replaced the rag and canteen back into the large pocket in her dress, he had finally been soothed enough to allow sleep to claim him. She froze and looked up, surprised when his voice whispered into the silence, saturated with the same contented emotions she herself was feeling:

"Alice?"

She released the lowest button on his shirt that she had been refastening and moved into his line of sight, her hand unconsciously bracing against his cool chest (she did not notice when his breath caught for a split second).

"I believe I was wrong," he declared sleepily, his eyes shining with a hint of mischievousness when they met hers. "M is not for malice, after all."

Alice couldn't help but smile at this rather random statement; silly, it seemed, after all the deeper words they'd shared only moments ago. "No?"

"No." He trailed his pin-bloodied fingers along the vein in the top of her delicate hand, then encased it completely. His soft Scottish accent faded into no more than a passionate whisper. "M is for miracle."

For the first time since before she could remember, Alice Kingsleigh's heart clenched at the glimmer she saw in his large eyes, and she felt that if she were anything like her sensitive mother and sister she might shed a tear or two at his heartfelt (if unique) way of thanking her — even though she was, however indirectly, the reason for his torture. And, in the end, he was the one who had helped _her_ the most, it seemed.

He outright gasped, his eyes wide as a teacup dish, when she planted a kiss on his forehead and stated into the suddenly warm, blushing skin,

"M is for magnanimity."

**THE END…  
**…_**or is it?**_

* * *

(1) _"I've been considering things that begin with the letter M: moron, mutiny, murder, malice…"_ - spoken by the Hatter, quoted from the movie.

(2) Same as (1)

(3) _"If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrariwise, what it is, it wouldn't be, and what it wouldn't be, it would, you see?"_ - spoken by Alice, quoted from the original book. (From what I can deduce, it was probably directed at her older sister, but she _might've_ said it to the Hatter at some point as well.)

* * *

_This has quite literally been the most fun writing I've had in just about any story so far. Was it satisfactory to all of you, though, is the question now._


End file.
